


Can't Go Down That Road

by edna_blackadder



Category: The West Wing
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 08:27:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edna_blackadder/pseuds/edna_blackadder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during Season 6. After a long day on the campaign trail, Josh is desperate for release.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Go Down That Road

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to sarcasticsra for the beta.

Sometimes, being around Santos is just too much.

This is stupid, not to mention dangerous. Josh tells himself, as he has time and time again, not to go down that road, and this time it's more imperative than ever before. With Sam, well, they were young and stupid, but even then, he hadn't really wanted to so much as he eventually just couldn't not. And they were drunk, the first time, otherwise he'd never have said a word, no matter how smitten he was. He hadn't put himself through three years of law school hell, for the sole purpose of going to Washington, only to be derailed by the first wide-eyed boyishly handsome idealist he met, no matter how sweetly earnest Sam was during their ensuing drunken make-out session on the floor of his apartment, or how fucking _hot_ their summer of forbidden love turned out to be. Josh sucks in his breath at the memory of fucking Sam over the conference table one very late night at work, overcome with want, and then again at the memory of the Saturday morning that Sam woke him up with an agonizingly drawn-out and tender blowjob, followed by a marathon weekend of what is still some of the most romantic sex he's ever had.

If Sam had been Samantha, she might be here right now, sprawled across this rock-hard hotel room bed and managing to look inviting even in hideous plaid pajamas. She might be Josh's wife now. Or maybe it still wouldn't have worked out, but he certainly wouldn't have let her go so easily, when her summer internship came to an end. But Sam was Sam, and Josh told himself it was for the best, because _he could not go down that road_ , no matter how much it hurt.

Fortunately for Josh, most men aren't like Sam. Once Sam was safely back at Princeton, it wasn't really all that difficult to confine himself to women. After all, he thinks, smiling smugly in spite of himself, he can't really help it if he's surrounded by gorgeous women. He shivers as he recalls steamy sex with Amy, so beautiful she could all too easily bring him to his knees, and vaguely terrifying in the way she ensured that he didn't mind this, not one little bit. And before her, there was Mandy, who would sooner die than admit it, but who had a submissive side of her own. And of course, there's Donna, and whatever his confused feelings toward her are. He really doesn't want to think about that right now. Instead, he thinks about Joey Lucas, who will probably never sleep with him but who, like the others, is still living proof that life is good on the straight and narrow.

Well, except for that time he slept with Tom Landis, after reminding himself repeatedly, while driving to Chesapeake Bay, that _he could not go down that road_ and how the hell did Landis know, had Matt Skinner maybe guessed and talked? And except for that one night on the first campaign trail, when he and Sam—drunk again, naturally—rekindled their long-dead romance, after Sam's breakup with Lisa, and then he hated himself in the morning, because he'd cheated on Mandy, and he might be an ass, but he'd never cheated on anyone before and he'd never thought he was the kind of guy who would. In the moment he'd rationalized it; he was comforting Sam; this was about Sam's pain, nothing more. It was in no way about how much he missed the feeling of Sam's body against his own, and it was in no way about how Mandy, whose bark was worse than her bite, talked, or to be more accurate, shouted a good game but was kind of boring, once she let her guard down.

This is, of course, just one more reason why _he cannot go down that road_ : Santos is married, and he clearly loves his wife. Josh should be happy about that. It's any campaign manager's dream, a candidate whose picture-perfect family life is the real thing, not just an elaborate masquerade for the benefit of a gullible audience while he fucks his secretary in the back room, like so, so many politicians Josh has had the misfortune of knowing. Or, in the case of one John Hoynes, screws a whole succession of women and somehow finds time to eyefuck Josh during meetings, knowing perfectly well what he's doing, as if ignoring Josh's every suggestion that might possibly have molded him into a candidate voters would support because they really supported him, not just because he was the frontrunner, weren't torment enough. Josh should be overjoyed that Congressman and Mrs. Santos are genuinely in love. After all, he already got lucky once with the President and the First Lady.

Or, you know, it wasn't luck at all. He did exactly what Leo had done and what Leo had told him to do; he found the smartest, most capable, and most honorable individual he knew. If Santos didn't fit all three categories, Santos wouldn't be his guy. Josh knows this, and damn it, he _is_ happy.

But all the same, sometimes being around him is too damn much. Josh watches Santos' campaign speeches with his eyes wide and his heart caught in his throat. After the speeches he complains that they can't move that quickly, that that combination of soaring hope and brutal honesty that somehow manages to be sweet in spite of itself isn't going to win votes. But during them, he just wants to jump onstage and kiss Matt fiercely, pinning him against the podium. Or maybe letting Matt pin him, whatever he wants.

He can't take much more of this. It's one o'clock in the morning, and he's got a 5:45am wake-up call. He should be asleep, or at least, if he's not going to sleep, he should be turning that to his advantage and strategizing for tomorrow.

Instead, Josh pulls back the bedcovers, unbuttons his shirt and throws it aside, drops his pants and his boxers, lies down on the sheets, and takes his cock in hand. He tries to start slow. He closes his eyes and imagines Santos kneeling next to the bed, touching his face and whispering his name, pleading.

 _What about Helen,_ he asks in his fantasy. _She understands,_ Santos replies, and then Santos kisses him, and Josh's lips part, and Santos' tongue explores Josh's mouth as one of his hands reaches up to stroke Josh's hair, and _oh, yes..._

Josh gasps and increases his pace as he imagines Santos kissing his neck, biting and very deliberately leaving a mark, and then climbing up onto the bed. Josh spreads his legs to accommodate him, and Santos kisses his way down Josh's chest, then licks the head of Josh's cock, teasing him.

“Congressman,” Josh moans, pumping harder and faster. “Congressman—” _Call me Matt,_ Santos says, laughing around him. Santos lifts his head and Josh groans, but then his eyes widen and his face breaks into a grin as Santos produces lube from who knows where. Santos lifts Josh's legs over his shoulders with strong hands, which rest on his thighs for just a moment. Then Josh gasps as Santos slips a slicked-up finger inside him, and then a second, and then he watches as Santos slicks up his cock, an image he'll need for many more nights like this, and then he moans, shamefully loudly, as Santos enters him.

“Matt,” Josh cries out. “Matt, Matt, Matt!” And then he comes, hard, into his hand, and all too soon, it's over.

For a moment, he lies back against the sheets, trying to just relax and let his breathing return to normal, trying to remember these moments he'll never get to have. It's 1:10am, and he really needs to get some sleep, so he can be at his best for Santos in the morning.


End file.
